


Speak

by CaptainVampireKing



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Abuse, Abusive Parents, Additional Warnings Apply, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Child Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Hearing Voices, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Multiple Voices, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, References to Depression, Rewrite, Sexual Abuse, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Tags Are Hard, Tags Contain Spoilers, Tags May Change, pricefield
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-01-20 04:17:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12424854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainVampireKing/pseuds/CaptainVampireKing
Summary: I hear them. Every second of every day, I hear them. Especially when it's quiet. The voices whisper to me when it's silent. Growing louder and louder. I used to listen to them. (Please read the author's note provided at the beginning of this story. DO NOT read the story otherwise. Plenty of warnings.IMPORTANT UPDATE 11/25/2017: The current story is being discontinued and rewritten.)





	1. Author's Note

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moonmist_Fire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonmist_Fire/gifts).



I don't really know how to give you brief information on what this story is about except that it is very personal to me. I've been meaning to write a very serious, maybe even dark, fanfiction for a while now and I've realized that, for me, the best inspiration comes from my personal life.

I ask you, dear reader, to keep an open mind as you read this. I've done research, but I'm no doctor, or therapist, or psychologist. I'm writing solely based off of experience. So do not tell me that there are certain aspects that are unrealistic or inaccurate because no one experiences everything the same way. With everything left in the world to be discovered, explained, and fleshed out, do we really know anything about anything?

WARNINGS: Mentions of rape, self-harm, suicide, abuse, death, unstable mentality, and more to come down the line. Each chapter that contains any of these things will be published with a warning at the very top in case you wish to skip the chapter. The chapter following it will have a brief summary of the previous one that you skipped.

I do ask you that if you are NOT okay with anything that will be featured in this story, whether it be because of experience, or it just makes you uncomfortable, that you do not read. And if you wish to continue, tread carefully. I do not wish to scar anyone that cannot handle these types of stories.

Last but not least, to make this story impossibly more related to my personal life, Chloe will be genderfluid.

SUICIDE HOTLINE: 1-800-273-8255

SELF HARM HOTLINES/RESOURCES: 1-800-DON'T-CUT (366-8288)

www.selfinjury.com

1-800-273-TALK (8255)

To Write Love On Her Arms (website: www.TWLOH.com)

1-800-334-HELP (4357)

1-800-799-SAFE (7233)

1-877-332-7333

Someone out there will listen. There are so many other resources out there that are not listed here. So please, if you're feeling hopeless, do not be afraid to reach out. They will help you. Give yourself a fighting chance. Stay safe. Stay alive. |-\

With all of that being said, thank you for giving this story a chance.

Enjoy.


	2. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This might be the only chapter in the story that's from a first person point of view. Depending on how I feel as the story progresses, the rest could possibly be, and remain, in third person. I'm also considering this chapter a test run. I want to see how well it is received before I continue.

I'm also borrowing material from both games, but changing and altering them.

WARNING: The following chapter contains mention of unstable mentality, thoughts of suicide, thoughts of murder, and graphic descriptions of self-harm.

~*~*~*~

I hear them.

Every second of every day, I hear them.

Especially when it's quiet.

The voices whisper to me when it's silent. Growing louder and louder.

I used to listen to them.

I was never an "okay" kid. My mother was abusive, my father was dead, and my step-furher was no better than my mother. They'd take turns telling me how I'd never amount to anything, I was a pathetic daughter, and I would always be a waste of space to everyone.

The voices started just after my dad died. I was fourteen. It was a huge blow to me. To my mentality. And to my life. My father was the nicest person I'd ever known. He wasn't oblivious to my mom's abusive nature, but... There's only so much you can do with an alcoholic.

After every episode with my mother, my dad, William, would take me out for ice cream. We would go to my favorite joint and I would order the same thing every time. Cotton candy ice cream with pop rocks and chocolate syrup. Fucking diabetes in a cone. After that we would go to the lighthouse. William knew I loved to watch the waves crash against the cliff side. How the sun and its reflection would seem to meet as one on the horizon.

He would always tell me he was sorry. I didn't have to ask what for. I knew. He'd tell me how, as soon as he could catch my mom sober, he'd have her sign the divorce papers hidden under his suits in the box in the back of the closet and win custody over me in court. I would ask how much longer. It was always the same answer.

"Not much longer."

And now it's not at all.

He went out one day to pick my mom up from the grocery store. She found out about the divorce papers somehow (I swear, I didn't tell her) and tried to put more of an effort into being a good mom. So she went grocery shopping. Whatever went wrong with her getting home the same way she got out there, she needed to be picked up. Dad said he would. And he left.

Next thing I knew, there were police knocking on my door, my mother with them in tears telling me that my father was killed in a car crash.

Admittedly, I'd starting hearing the voices before that. But that moment really ticked them off. I'm not schizophrenic or anything. I don't hear the voice of God telling me to kill every impure woman on this earth to save humanity. I don't hear voices telling me to kill my family. No. I don't hear those kinds of voices.

I hear my voices.

See? There you go thinking I'm crazy before I explain myself. The best way to explain it would to compare it to hats. Yes, hats. I'm still not crazy. Just a bit, but that's besides the point. Everyone has a different collection of hats that they wear in different circumstances. You act opposite with your friends than you would with your boss, right? Right. That's how my voices work. Each voice is a different version of me.

One voice usually speaks louder than the others. He's been around the longest. Someone close to me gave me the idea to name him Thirio. "Beast" in Greek. Because that's exactly what he is. Bloodthirsty, lustful, demanding. He talks the most and he's the loudest.

I know what you're thinking again. Why is Thirio a 'he'? That's a little hard to explain. I always heard a male voice whenever he spoke to me. Being genderfluid, it didn't seem any stranger than hearing voices in my head at all.

He came around sometime when I was twelve. He was the result of so much built up aggravation, anger, and hatred. Way more than any child should be able to hold or be allowed to. It was because of my mother's abusive nature that it grew so much so fast. I had a lot of self control. He would tell me to do things, but I was stronger than him. For a while at least.

There were times when I would be sitting with my back against the washing machine in the garage, scared out of my mind and muttering to myself about how I'd "make them all pay for what they did to me" while clutching a kitchen knife.

Yeah. I was pretty fucked up.

You know how people tell you not to name a stray animal or you'll end up attached to it? That's how I felt about Thirio. Even though I wouldn't get the name for him for another five years, give or take a couple, I referred to him as "He/Him" or "the monster". That was my way of naming him. I didn't become attached to him the same way you would be to a fluffy bunny, though. It was much deeper, and darker, than that.

Thirio would tell me things, things like "the blades want to kiss your skin". I... didn't know at the time what that meant, exactly. Not until I gave in and listened to him. This was one thing my father never found out about. I couldn't stand to tell him that I was cutting myself. I had taken the blades from my sharpener and found myself amazed at how easily it was to pierce my skin. It wasn't until later on that the stinging of my cuts caught up with me that I cried over my mistake. And yet, it didn't stop there.

I wanted so badly for it to end. I begged myself to gain the courage to give in to the sweet release of death. This was driving me insane. I would glare at myself in the mirror and tell myself all the things my mother would tell me after she returned to alcoholism following dad's death. I was weak. No one could ever love me. I couldn't do anything right.

When I was fifteen, my mom met her now current husband and my step-douche. He came off as a nice guy at first. I thought I'd be able to get along with him. But David was a full grown army brat. Veteran, to be specific. He played no games and gave no fucks. I figured that, because of this, he'd be able to help my mom give up her drinking and be a good mother again.

Of course, I was wrong.

He blamed me for everything whenever something went wrong in the house. He'd say how my mother was "sick" and it was my job to maintain the house while she recovered. He thought I was fucking stupid or something. Sick is the kind of word you use when talking to a five year old and you can't explain what alcoholism is to them because they probably wouldn't understand. I was fifteen and had been watching my mother deteriorate every day. I knew she wasn't sick.

The only time I could escape my personal hell was in school. Most kids my age despised school and hated going there. But me? I loved that I had that excuse to get away from my house. I went to an arts school, which was the best thing about it. My art was Visual Arts. You know, drawing, sketching, painting. All of that was a doorway to my quieter state of mind. I had my own private collection made up of drawings that represented my darker thoughts. I never allowed anyone to see them. Why would I? So they could think I was insane or homicidal and lock me away? No thank you.

Some of my drawings featured Thirio, which I would never admit to anyone if they saw them. I'd pass it off as a ghost I saw as a kid or some bullshit like that. But never would I tell them that it was the monster that possessed the first voice in my head.

You heard me right. The first voice. You'll meet the others. Eventually.

Like I said, Thirio has been by my side for years. There were plenty of times I begged to a God that I'm not sure I believe in to rid me of him, or rid me of this earth. The world didn't need another potential maniac, right? I just knew I was going to become another statistic on some detective's white board. No one needed that. I didn't want that. So I prayed. I begged. I pleaded. And his voice was the only one that would answer.

*"So pathetic... You think you can get rid of me?"*

No. I didn't think I could. But I wanted to believe it was possible. For once in my life, I actually wanted to believe that there was something I could do to help myself. Was I wrong? Yes. Did I care? Not really. Well, in a way I did. But it didn't make all the difference. Thus, I lived with his voice speaking to me from the back of my mind for years.

It wasn't until my junior year of high school that he started to quiet down. And that was because I'd fallen in love with someone. Someone a grade above me, but positively beautiful in almost every way. Or, at least that's what I thought at the time. I wouldn't say I put her on a pedestal, but I did admire her. This... "love" would last for several months.

Her name was Rachel Amber. She was in the theater department of Blackwell Academy, the school I attended. It was the closest she'd get to being a model at the time. That's how she put it. She could've been a model, too. But her acting was great. I remember attending Blackwell's rendition of The Tempest, where she played Prospera. You know, the female version of Prospero. She was amazing.

We'd only hung out a few times but I valued any moment that kept Thirio at bay. I took every second of blissful silence I could get. Of course, I never told Rachel all that she did for me mentally but I appreciated it deeply. She could never know, anyway. She'd just be another name on the list of people that already think I'm crazy. They're not wrong, but I'd never confirm it if I didn't have to.

Unfortunately, like every good thing that comes my way, Rachel left me. Well, she didn't leave me. She was never mine. In my mind I saw our possible future together. I saw us going on dates, acting like goofballs, having mind-blowing sex... But all the effort I'd put in to try and turn it into a reality was burned at the stake. She "found herself" in a guy named Frank. That's how she put it, anyway. And I was happy for her. Still, that didn't keep Thirio from coming back stronger than ever. His voice echoing louder in my thoughts than it had before.

*"You don't deserve happiness. You'll only destroy it."*

That's what I was doomed to believe. It was almost like what Hannah Baker told Clay. I would ruin anything that showed love to me. I was - I am - too self destructive to find someone, something, that could handle everything I kept inside. Thirio was acting like he was protecting me. He wasn't. I knew that, and he knew that I knew that. Still, once Rachel was no longer an option, I started to see some of the ways as to why our relationship would not work. Even if I didn't have voices in my head, even if I was a normal kid with a normal life, it wouldn't of worked. Rachel wasn't someone you could tie down if she didn't want to stay down. She didn't want to with me. So I had to let her go. I never stopped loving her, though. I never will.

Anyway, I digress.

I went for months trying to find another outlet or distraction that would prevent me from losing my mind. I only had Thirio by my side, and he wasn't even on my side. I lived with the weight of my love for Rachel until July when I finally confessed to her. In that moment, it didn't matter to me that she couldn't be with me. It didn't matter that I was digging my own grave. It didn't matter that she was already with someone. I needed to let it out so I wouldn't have something else dragging behind me for the rest of my life. It took a week of on and off conversation to tell her. Of course she didn't feel the same. She told me she already kinda knew, too. I know I didn't make it seem like some big secret; I was pretty obvious about it. I just wanted to solidify it.

Since then, we've become better friends. And she's been there for me when she can be. But she doesn't have the same affect on Thirio and I as she did before. My affections towards her, albeit never disappearing entirely, were waning. And it took about three-four months before they started doing that. I went into my senior year at Blackwell with a thunder cloud raging over my head. Building the lightning until it was ready to strike. And strike it did.

Just... not in the way you're thinking. Or maybe it's exactly what you're thinking and I'm a jackass for assuming your train of thought.

The lightning struck on October 7th. It may be weird that I remember the exact date, but would it be weirder to not remember the day I met my soulmate?

Whoops. Spoiler much? Don't worry. That's not the biggest thing to come out of this story. In fact, it gets worse before it gets better. But that's just about everyone's experience, isn't it? Then there would be no such thing as "happy endings" or "happily ever afters". If you even believe in those things. I didn't. At first.

I've probably rambled on enough, huh? You want me to get on with my story. Alright, you got it.

And I don't say this often enough to the people I care about, let alone someone I barely know, but... Be careful. Okay? There's gonna be a lot of dark shit that I'm gonna tell you. So please. Be careful.

Here we go.

~*~*~*~

Author's Note: And that's where I'm gonna have to (unfortunately) end this part of the story. I know I should probably share more, but I don't want to get too into the onslaught of what this story is to bring. I'm sure you guys can handle a bit of suspense x3.

I'll give this chapter a week minimum to see the kind of response it gets. I'm still dealing with college, so don't be surprised if there isn't an update for a while. That's why my other stories haven't been updated. But I am working on them. Swear.

Last, if you've read Speak: Teaser, Thirio is not the same 'he/him" as the unknown character in that one. You'll find out who he, and the other voices are, soon. Slowly but surely.

CaptainVampireKing awaaaay!


	3. Chapter 2 (Content Warning)

Author's Note: Here's the second chapter. So good to see a positive response to my creation so far. Also, a lot of the elements featured in this story will be based on/inspired by true events while others will be borrowed from the game or entirely made up. I'm not going to tell you what is real and what's not, but do know that not everything I tell you in this story has happened. Most things that have happened will have to be modified in order to be written properly and understood.

I also had to change something else about Chloe so that what's coming down the line will make sense. I've done some research on it, and I'll be doing more soon, but I'm also gonna make my own thing with it because my story, my rules. Chloe... will now be intersex. If you don't know what that means, it means she has both sets of genitalia. It'll be explained more later, it's not too important right now. Just know that it took a lot of thought on whether or not to include this feature and I'm still internally freaking out about my choice to do it.

WARNING: The following chapter contains mention of physical abuse, mention of rape, and graphic depictions of nightmares.

~*~*~*~

I didn't want to get up from my bed. My fingers dug into my pillow tightly, my jaw clenched and eyes shut as tightly as possible. I should open my eyes. Maybe then I'd stop seeing my nightmare replaying behind my eyelids.

'Their claws dragged against the cement floor. I could see the sparks they created from the friction.'

My heart pounded against my ribcage. Almost like it was pleading with me to get up. But I couldn't move.

'Their eyes, or lack thereof. Empty, stretched out, never-ending sockets boring into me.'

My head ached. Get up. For God's sake, get up.

'Their mouths, twisted up in horrifying grins that showed off their bloody serrated teeth. Blood. Why blood?'

My legs trembled. I wanted to run. I couldn't run.

'"Chloe..." Their voices like a distorted song. Calling to me. They wanted me.'

My chest felt tight. I could hardly breathe. Pain blossomed in various parts of my body, and my head felt like it was being crushed. Anxiety attack. Why wouldn't I get up?!

*"Come, child... Don't you want to join me?"*

His voice. Not his voice, anything but his voice!

His face, looming in the background. He commanded his minions. The monsters in my mind.

*"Chloe."*

Something wet hit my lips.

"Chloe, get up! Holy shit!"

I felt my body shaking, but not from its own force. Someone was shaking me. My eyes flew open and all the pain, the trembling, the anxiety, nearly blew sky high as I jumped away from the blurry figure in front of my face. My heart felt like it was going to explode at any second.

"Che, calm down!"

Rachel?

Before I could register anything else, she shoved a handful of tissues into my hand. I tasted blood on my tongue. Nosebleed.

"Oh, fuck..." I mumbled, and pressed the tissue to my upper lip.

She watched me hesitantly, an awkward silence hanging in the air. Shifting on her feet, I knew she had a question. She was building up the nerve to ask because she was scared of the answer. Her brow creased in worry and she rolled her knuckles.

"Was it another nightmare?" Rachel asked me, sitting at the end of the bed. I nodded slowly but didn't meet her eyes.

That's all she knew about my internal struggles, that was all she'll ever know. I could never tell her about the voices, or the things they made me see. The things they craved to make me do. She may have been on the border of becoming my best friend, but this was something I couldn't bring myself to tell her. The only reason she knew about the nightmares was because I was spending the night at her house when I had one. She told me that I was crying and pleading in my sleep for someone, or something, to leave me alone. When she looked down to check on me, my face was a mess of blood and tears. It really freaked her out.

I was just thankful that I didn't say his name.

Rachel reached out and gently untangled my fingers from the blanket, which I didn't know I was clutching so tightly. Her fingers laced with mine and that's when I knew my hands was shaking by the firmness of her grip. I knew she was looking at me, silently begging me to tell her more. But I couldn't. She wouldn't understand.

No one would.

I took a few seconds before unclasping our hands. "Where's Bongo?" I muttered, pulling the covers back from my legs.

"I fed him when I came in." Rachel pulled her hand back hesitantly, almost like she wanted me to take it again. If I needed to. "He's down in the kitchen."

"You used the key under the flower pot?" I get up from my bed and go to my mirror.

"Yeah. Your step-" I turned and gave her a warning glare, one that obviously scared her a bit because I saw her jump. It was slight, unnoticeable to someone not paying close enough attention. But I wasn't the only one watching her. Rachel cleared her throat and started again. "David isn't here and your mom is asleep. You probably have another hour before she gets up."

"Thanks." I said softly. I turned back to my mirror and tentatively removed the tissue from my face. There was still some dried blood on my upper lip and trailing down my mouth, but it seemed to have stopped. I tossed the tissue away and made my way to my closet to pick out my outfit for the day.

My hand reached for my old Firewalk shirt, one that I stole from this guy selling them at their concert three years ago at the sawmill. It was one of my favorite shirts next to my Misfit Skull tank. My fingers have barely brushed the fabric of it when-

*"No."*

My hand drew to the shirt next to that one. A black shirt with the torso of a skeleton. I took it off the shelf and stared at it. So, we were going for a dead inside theme. Got it. I grabbed my torn black jeans to match and black beanie. I'd give him what he wanted for the time being. Maybe he'd let me think clearly if I did.

Rachel watched me silently, following my mechanical and indecisive movements as I gathered the rest of my clothing s and shower supplies. She'd grown used to my endless strangeness, following my "ask no questions" rule. No matter how bad she wanted to know more, she respected my privacy. She could tell when I was lost in thought. Most likely suspecting that I was thinking about my nightmare.

I picked up my comb from my dresser. "I'll be back." I said, and headed out the room to the bathroom. I shut the door as quietly as possible behind me and started the water in the shower. I set my clothes on the toilet lid and looked at myself in the mirror. My blonde hair wasn't as long as it used to be. It was barely touching my shoulders. I always hated the color of my hair, but I could never do anything about it. I wanted to dye it, cut it shorter if I had the chance. I wanted a change in myself.

My gaze shifted to my face. I saw the discoloration of the bags under my eyes, a faint shade of blueish purple. Like I'd been punched in the face twice. But that hasn't happened for a while. I hadn't been sleeping well. Too many nightmares leading to unavoidable sleepless nights. If it wasn't the nightmares, it was Thirio constantly talking in my head. Keeping me up with his voice feeling like it was grating against my ear drums.

I knew when the mirror started fog up that my shower was ready. I tore my gaze away from myself, thankful for the obstruction, and preceded to get undressed. I placed everything in a haphazard pile by the door and stopped when I got to taking off my boxers. I stared down at them for a few seconds, the unmistakable slight bulge in them hard to ignore. I swallowed thickly.

-"Go on."-

My eyes shut tightly and I felt my heartbeat pick up the pace.

-"Take it. Like the little freak you are."-

This was his doing.

-I shook my head. My eyes were stinging and my vision blurred.-

Why was he making me remember this..?

-He grabbed me by my hair, forcing me closer to the thing in my face. "I said, take it."-

My body was suddenly racked with shivers.

-I choked on my own sob. I had no choice. I didn't want to be in the dark.-

Stop it. Goddamn it, stop!

-"Do what I told you."-

My chest was tightening. I couldn't breathe. My sight started to darken.

*-"Or else."-*

I don't remember getting on the floor, but I was huddled up against the cabinet under the sink when I came to. My throat hurt from me struggling to catch my breath, the muscles contacting too much and releasing too quickly. I blinked. My nails were digging into my calves. My knees were forced against my chest, in a death grip from my arms.

My boxers felt a little too snug.

He enjoyed that.

The sick fucking bastard.

My legs trembled as I straightened them out. I tilted my head back against the cabinet and swallowed the lukewarm steam in the air. In. Out. In. Out. Breathe. I waited until my body relaxed before getting to my feet. I stripped myself of my boxers without a second thought and gave my attention to the shower in front of me instead of between my legs. I took slow steps to the shower and held on to the door as I got in.

I laid my hand against the shower wall, letting the water hit my head and cascade down my body. I felt it run over the tender parts of my muscles, trying not to think about how dark my skin could still be in some places. I felt the soreness engraved in my shoulders every time a drop of water hit them. I felt the heat soothe the pain in my biceps while the water trickled down them.

If anyone asked, I fell down the stairs. Right.

I looked down, feeling the creak of my neck like I was a robot in need of oil. I gulped. I couldn't leave with this. I had to get rid of it. I felt the familiar nausea raise in my stomach. I had no choice. My hand slipped from the wall down.

*"Take it."*

~*~*~*~

I stepped into my room, my hands hurriedly scrubbing a towel over my hair to dry it. Rachel was at my computer when I entered, checking her email. She didn't turn around, but I knew she knew I was back.

"What took so long?" she asked.

"Water pressure." I deadpanned. She could probably tell I was lying, but mercifully said nothing else. I wasn't going to tell her about all the shame I just finished washing down the drain no matter how much she pressed anyway.

I took my pajamas from under my arm and tossed them in the dirty clothes bag by my closet. It was overflowing. I'd get it to it eventually. I took my clothes from the pocket of my jeans and ran it through my hair one more time before returning it to my dresser and topping my outfit off with my beanie. I grabbed my favorite leather jacket from the box next to my bed and slipped it on.

Backpack, check. Cell phone, check. Art supplies, check. Keys, check.

"Ready to go?" Rachel had signed out of her email and closed the tab, making sure to lock my computer. She was facing me now, an eyebrow quirked.

I nodded. "Ready."

~*~*~*~

Author's Note: I admit the flow of this story will be weird. Some chapters will be long, others not so. I can only write so much so fast, and I want every word I put into this story to feel right. If it's not right, or if it's not the time for something, it simply won't be done. This project is more detail and emotion heavy rather than time and length heavy. I hope you guys understand what I'm saying. I'm going with my gut 100% through this endeavor.

Anyway, I sincerely hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and that you'll be back for more. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

CaptainVampireKing awaaay!


	4. Chapter 3

WARNING: The following chapter contains spoilers for 'The Wolf Among Us'.

RECAP OF C2: Rachel woke Chloe up from a nightmare and handed her tissues for her bloody nose. Chloe dismissed the incident and proceeded to get ready for school, having a "minor" PTSD episode in the bathroom before her shower.

~*~*~*~

Rachel pulled into a parking space at the academy, shutting off the car. I reached down and grabbed my backpack from between my feet, using my other hand to open the car door. Rachel got out faster than I did since I had to reach into the back seat and grab the duffel bag containing the rest of my art supplies and waited until the door shut securely behind me to lock the doors. I slung my bag over my shoulder and stared up at the school looming ahead.

For once, I didn't want to be here. I still felt sick to my stomach from the morning. My grip tightened around the strap of my bag, and I felt Rachel rest her hand on my opposing shoulder.

"Are you staying?" she asked, and glanced at me.

Feeling the weight of my art supplies in my duffel bag, I sighed and nodded. "Yeah. Maybe two hours worth."

She squeezed my shoulder tenderly and I glanced at her, feeling my heart lighten at the smile she was giving me. "Text me when you're ready, okay? Take as long as you need."

That was her way of saying goodbye to me. We were going in the same direction, but she could tell I needed my space. She was giving it to me without question.

"Will do. Thanks, Rach."

Her hand dropped from my shoulder and I started for the school, avoiding eye contact with the other students making their way to the front doors. I heard Rachel's footsteps blend with the dozens of others behind me and ignored the swelling anxiousness working its way through my body. Today was going to be a simple day. All I had to do was get through today. I couldn't afford to take any more mental health days than absolutely necessary. My grades were starting to look as bad as the inside of my head.

If I could get through today, I'd be fine. It was Friday. I had the whole weekend ahead of me to take it easy.

My feet carried me up the steps and through the double doors, successfully keeping me from colliding with anyone in my state of distractedness. When I heard the doors close, I picked my head up and took a breath. Masses of students filtered their way through others, turning down hallways and entering offices and bathrooms. I saw Rachel pass me from the corner of my eye and returned her reassuring smile before she disappeared down the left hall.

My first class was civics. That wouldn't be too bad, though math was one of my better subjects next to english. I really only lagged in any kind of science class but I had Rachel to help me out with those.

I started walking again, heading straight down the middle hallway towards my math class. I managed to tune out the sounds of shoes thudding against tile a bit, centering my thoughts around what I was going to create later.

*"Add to your collection..."*

No. I wasn't planning on listening to him. While it was true that I'd been lacking in the 'Reflection' portfolio I saved for myself, that didn't mean I was missing it. It was an accomplishment in my book to not have a drawing to add.

I entered the classroom and sat in my usual spot in the back, pulling out my laptop from my backpack and setting it up on my desk. I pulled out the power cord since I'd forgotten to charge it the night before and plugged it up. I waited a few seconds before pressing the power button, absently tapping on the desk as it turned on. I reached into my pocket and took out my headphones to detangle them.

In my peripheral vision, I could see students passing the doorway or slipping inside to take their seat. The usual morning commotion hadn't died down yet; I could still hear people laughing and calling to their friends ahead of them as if they were still outside. It was too early for that bullshit. When my computer finished powering on, I logged in and immediately opened my photoshop program. I had a shit-ton of projects I'd started and was so unmotivated to continue/finish them. That didn't keep me from bringing my supplies just about everywhere I went, though.

My eyes skimmed through my folders, reading the titles I'd given my various edits, and I heaved a sigh. I closed the application and opened up YouTube, deciding that I'd lose myself in the internet. Recently, I'd gotten into this game known as The Wolf Among Us and was kinda sorta obsessed with it. So I decided to type in the search bar something related to the game; anything that would distract me from my quickly darkening thoughts. Bad mornings led to even worse afternoons, and difficult nights.

*"You miss it..."*

He was trying to, for lack of a better term, get in my head. I didn't miss anything he once made me think, say, or do as much as he tried to make me believe it. That was the most 'in control' I'd been in a while. I wasn't giving that up.

I didn't notice the teacher when she entered the classroom, and I didn't really care. I placed my headphones into their respective ears and clicked the first video at the top of the list.

~*~*~*~

By the end of the day, I knew I looked like shit. I felt it straight to my bones. My backpack weighed down my shoulders, which was the only thing I didn't mind since it was my art supplies. I ignored the last of the stragglers in the hallways and made a beeline straight for the art studio. It was by the exit that led to the next building over with the pool and locker rooms. The art teacher was conveniently the mother of a friend of mine, and she would often trust me with the spare key to go in and "paint my heart out" as she put it so long as I made sure to return the key to her safely. The school was aware of this and didn't complain about it because, so far, I was proving responsible enough.

Upon reaching the art room, I pulled the key out of my pocket and unlocked the door. I slipped inside and breathed in the relaxing smell of acrylic paints, pencil shavings, and various other art related scents. The room was quite nice, with tall windows that were letting in the perfect amount of sunlight and a decent structure for the twenty or so kids that were in here at a time to have their own space. There were white paints with paint splattered across them along the floor and half finished pieces lining the walls on the table in the back. Students would create things in their own time and gift them to Ms. Harrison for her to decorate the room with. I only had two of my pieces hanging on the wall; a painting of a black bunny in the middle of a snow covered forest and a rusted bicycle in the rain.

I made my way over to the drawers to grab a blank canvas. I was allowed to leave my own canvases in the room because it was a hassle to carry them back and forth from home. I crouched down, chuckling at my name labeled at the top with a skull and crossbones, and opened it up to take one out. I stood and gently kicked it shut as I returned to my chosen spot by the window. I shrugged my backpack off and set it right next to the duffel. I unzipped the pockets of the other bag and took out my own sheet to prevent the floor from getting stained. Well, more stained than it already was. I got that settled first before taking out my self-created stencils and collection of spray paint cans. I set them up in order by shades of the rainbow. Last, but not least, I took out my pair of gloves, the mask to cover my nose and mouth, and goggles to protect my eyes. I didn't care too much about getting paint on my clothes or sneakers, I had the paint remover back at my house to take care of that.

I grabbed my stack of stencils and flipped through them. There was a specific design I was going for; one that I'd created solely for my plans on a The Wolf Among Us piece. I had at least eleven separate stencils for it but didn't have the time to organize them. It took a few minutes of incessant searching before I found them all. I placed the others back in my bag and set up the others in the order I planned on using them in to prevent confusion.

It was usually only when I was in the zone that Thirio was especially quiet. I didn't need to focus on anything except how the colors hit the paper. Sometimes my body worked on autopilot because it already knew what I was gonna do, and it left my thoughts peacefully blank. It was just me and my paint.

~*~*~*~

I'd been going at it for at least an hour, adjusting my stencils and taking a break to nosh on the bag of Doritos I got from the vending machine. I took a long swig of my Sprite and sighed contently before bending down to grab my black spray paint again. I picked up the third stencil from my line up (it was already coated in purple and white) and narrowed my eyes until I had it lined up perfectly where I wanted it.

I got back to work almost immediately, grimacing at the pain in my legs from kneeling too much. But I wasn't going to stop. Not when I was so-

"Hello?"

I froze.

Who the fuck?

I raised my eyes until they were level with the doorway. There was some girl standing there. She had short, brown hair, brown doe eyes, lean figure, and was clearly a little apprehensive.

"Uh, hey?" I said. I raised my hand in greeting.

The girl's eyes fell on me and she relaxed instantly, a small smile gracing her lips. "Oh, so there was someone in here."

"You thought there wasn't?" I stood up and stretched my legs. I smirked a bit, despite that this girl couldn't see it due to the mask.

"All I saw was the door open a crack." the girl stepped inside more. Her shy smile turned playful. "Decided to make sure there was no crazed ax murderer hiding out in here."

I laughed, shaking my head. "Bold move. What if I was some crazed ax murderer?"

"Then you're a crazed ax murderer with talent."

Her gaze had moved from me to the painting at my feet, her eyes widening and jaw dropping slightly in awe. A blush started to creep up my neck. I was so thankful for the mask covering most of my face. It's not that I didn't enjoy people admiring my work, I loved it. But I still turned into a pile of awkward mush whenever someone told me I had "talent" or "a gift."

"Ah, thanks." I said.

The girl came closer, I'm guessing to get a better look at my art because she didn't look up from it as she did so. She stopped when she was standing at the opposite end, her eyes scanning the design, and her face lit up with recognition.

"Wait, I know this game!" She grinned at me, and it made my heart flutter. "The Wolf Among Us, right?"

I blinked. "Y-yeah. You've played it?"

"No," She laughed. "But I wish I did. I watched a few youtubers play it, though." She moved around to the side to get a better look, resting her hands on her knees. "Is this from In Sheep's Clothing?"

"How'd you know?" I asked, intrigued.

She pointed at my depiction of Bigby. "The bandages you put on him. They look like the ones that are put on him in the fourth episode."

"You really know your stuff, huh?" I teased lightheartedly. Despite her head being down, I could tell she was starting to turn pink.

"I love the beginning scene with Snow White." The girl stood up straight again. "I've watched it so many times, I think I've memorized the dialogue."

"Oh, yeah?" I quirked an eyebrow. "Let's test that."

She looked up at me, brow raising in surprise and her freckles popping out against her blush. "What?"

"I'd like to consider myself an expert on the game, so I'd like to test your knowledge." I reached up and pulled the mask down so she could properly see my cocky grin. I crossed my arms. "Pick a scene."

The girl continued to stare at me, at a loss for words, but I could see the gears working in her head. Her mouth clamped shut like she didn't realize it was hanging open.

"So..." she began. Her tone told me everything about the scene she was going for. "How do you, um, feel?"

I chuckled and attempted to make my voice as gruff as possible. "Don't worry about me, alright? I'll be fine."

"I'm glad you're not dead." She didn't hesitate with that line. I knew she had that one down. She paused, thinking of the next part that I already had going in my head. "You, uh, you stopped breathing, you know... When you passed out or... Or died, I guess..." I saw her hand twitch in my peripherals, almost like she was going to reach out and touch my arm like Snow did to Bigby. "It... Um... Kind of scared the Hell out of me."

She was good. Really good. Maybe she couldn't beat out Rachel for the lead in a show, but she was definitely impressing me with her acting. I didn't know this girl, but I was captivated.

"I've never seen you like that..." She continued. "And when Swineheart arrived-"

"Snow..." I cut her off at the perfect moment. "I'd never leave you."

We stood there, staring intently at each other in the weighing silence. She seemed intimated by how I was holding myself, I saw the way she kept glancing down at my posture. I relaxed and dropped my arms, maintaining a reassuring smile.

"Not bad, 'Snow White.'" I said with another laugh.

She giggled. The sound was music to my ears. "Thank you, 'Bigby Wolf.'"

I watched her for another moment, debating on what to say next, when she looked over my shoulder and jumped. "Shit, I'm late! U-uh, nice talking with you!"

She turned and bolted out the art studio with hardly a wave over her shoulder. I didn't look away from the spot she'd just been standing in, a simple thought crossing my mind.

What the fuck just happened?

~*~*~*~

Author's Note: Okay, so, I know this chapter is a little strange and unstructured. Their interaction is weird and awkward and I wish I could tell you what it is inspired by (because, I'll tell you guys this, something similar did happen to me), but it's a personal memory I'd like to keep to myself.

Anyway, thank you guys so much for reading and, if you liked it, be sure to kudos/bookmark/comment! I hope to see all you dudes and dudettes in the next chapter!

CaptainVampireKing awaaay!


	5. #1

*Greetings.

We haven't officially met... Have we?

No. I suppose we haven't.

No need to be frightened of me.*

A smile.

*I don't bite.

...

So inferior. Her potential.

She doesn't know what we're capable of.*

The blood smeared walls.

*How I wish she'd let me free.

And we would rule.

The power... So intoxicating...

She finds it harder to resist.*

Twisted.

*She can only hold out for so long.*

Help me.


	6. Author's Note: Discontinuing & Rewriting

Alrighty. So. This story will be experiencing a COMPLETE REWRITE. It's not turning out how I was planning it to, nor how I was hoping it would. The only thing that feels right and will remain the same is the prologue. Everything else will eventually be removed and rewritten to better fit my vision for it. Simply editing the already existing chapters is not doing the trick.

My sincerest apologies to everyone following and enjoying this story, but I can promise that the wait for the fully edited version will be worth it.

Thank you for your understanding and patience!

CaptainVampireKing awaaay!


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